


A Rainy Morrow

by orphan_account



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It’s not romantic. It’s never romantic. It’s bright and hot and suffocating, and it unravels in slow motion. Even if she wanted it to stop, she wouldn’t know how.Carmen era.





	A Rainy Morrow

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended as a one-shot, but I've been busy and wanted to at least get something published to motivate myself into finishing the rest. Fair warning: I've earned the explicit rating.
> 
> Decided to go real pretentious with the title. It's from Shakespeare's Sonnet 90.
> 
> Here's the whole-ass sonnet:
> 
> Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now,  
> Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross;  
> Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,  
> And do not drop in for an after-loss:  
> Ah, do not, when my heart hath ’scaped this sorrow,  
> Come in the rearward of a conquered woe.  
> Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,  
> To linger out a purposed overthrow.  
> If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,  
> When other petty griefs have done their spite  
> But in the onset come; so shall I taste  
> At first the very worst of fortune’s might;  
>   And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,  
>   Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

It’s not romantic. It’s never romantic.

Like right now, he’s got her with her legs hitched over his shoulders, writhing at the edge of his bed. Both hands firm against her hips, keeping her from bucking up. She digs into his back with her heels, grips his comforter with one hand, and covers her face with the other. She swivels her hips in time to meet him, the friction and pressure building to critical mass.

Right now, she knows three words. “Oh,” “fuck,” and “Scott.”

When she comes, he leaves her legs to slump down over the side of the bed. He kisses her while she’s still on his lips and brushes the hair from her sweaty forehead.

“Thank you,” she says, wrinkling her nose as he licks at her throat. She knows he’s horny, too, but it was her turn tonight, and she’s just so tired from practice.

“What are friends for,” he says, punctuated with a smack on the lips.

She’s out the door in 5 minutes. He gets himself off to the memory of her hands in his hair, gritting out his name.

***

A month ago, it had been business as usual. They’d been working on their new free dance. She was generally resistant to the idea of skating to war horses, but Carmen was one of those programs she’d always wanted to do, and they were finally mature enough to do it -- not that they hadn’t been in the business of pretending to be lovers since before she grew boobs.

But then it happened. It wasn’t the first time _ever_. Occasionally, while he was going through puberty, it would spring up at practice, but that was just a natural extension of his changing body. Tessa, thankfully, was either too young or too embarrassed to ever say anything, and then he grew out of it.

But it’s never happened like this. They’re working on a new lift today. Scott is chewing at the skin around his right thumb the way he often does when he’s deep in thought. Marina calls him over to the boards. He asks her what’s up, and she motions to his pants.

“Shit,” he says. Hands flying to cover his erection. He steps off the ice to take care of it.

“Where’d Scott go?” Tessa asks.

“Little boys room," she replies without even a touch of irony.

The second time it happens, Tessa is not so oblivious. They’ve been working on their no touching midline step sequence all morning, and she’s sweating bullets. She pulls off her fleece and throws it over the boards. She’s in a powder blue sports bra -- nothing racy, and he’s seen her in much less -- but he’s so distracted by the rise and fall of her chest, all flushed as she pants for breath, he gets hard before he can distract himself with thoughts of old people sex and moldy dishes and diseased lungs. Scott skates off to take care of it, leaving her standing there on the ice, cold and wondering.

And wondering...

***

All of Canada used to think she was a whore. At least according to the message boards she pretends she never reads but secretly devours. It used to keep her up at night -- her reputation -- but now it feels more like an ugly dress at the back of her closet gifted to her by some distant relative who forces her to wear it on special occasions; she doesn’t like the way it makes her look, but ultimately, it’s just a dress.

The affair was totally blown out of proportion. She was nineteen when it happened, and terrified, and in pain, and the one person she really needed wasn’t there. It was hell. She thought her career was dead. Marina kept pushing Scott to find a new partner, and though she knew intellectually that he was loyal and always would be, the rumors started to eat at her. She worried she'd be a footnote in Scott’s career. The “Former Partner” on his Wikipedia page. _Weren’t they so cute as kids? I wonder what happened to her._

And then suddenly, this monumental figure -- this national fucking icon -- showed up and only had eyes for her. She liked the idea of being courted by an older man. It felt like something out of a romance novel. (The ones she pretended she never read but secretly devoured.) Her, the fair but ailing young maiden. He, the brooding aristocrat with a closet full of skeletons but a heart of solid gold.

(And if he didn’t have a heart of gold, at least he had some gold around his neck.)

They never slept together. Publicly, she’ll never cop to the affair, but if she did, that’s the one thing she’d like to clarify. He liked to touch her, and she liked the way he looked at her when he did. She gave him a few sad handjobs, and sometimes she let him touch her boobs. She liked that he liked them. He used to say filthy things about them. It was sad but intoxicating all at once. This 30-something married man wanted to come on her tits? At least someone did.

She’s not sure how people found out about David. She didn’t _tell_ anyone. Christ. But gossip spreads like wildfire in figure skating, and their affair was the biggest piece of gossip Canadian skating had ever seen, it seemed.

The whispers have long since died down, now. She won gold. She’s Canada’s Sweetheart -- just ask her publicist. But for some, she still plays the whore who ruined a hero’s marriage. (If you ask her, the hero ruined his own damn marriage. She was just collateral damage.)

Playing Carmen awakens something in Tessa that wasn’t there before. A sense of humor, maybe. But she gets to play the whore for real this time. She controls the narrative, and she likes it.

***

It’s been a long week of practice already, and it’s only Wednesday. The choreography is coming along, but it’s a grind.

She’s been watching him more closely than ever. Notices how he avoids her gaze whenever any amount of extra skin is exposed, so she makes sure to spend at least an hour every practice in a sports bra. The choreography is, of course, _a lot_. So she dials it up. Pushes his limits. She probably shouldn’t -- there’s so much at stake this season -- but she’s been conducting an important investigation into the mind of Scott Moir.

Now that she’s gathered enough evidence, she decides it’s time to test her theory. She “forgot” her apartment key at home this morning and has recruited Scott to come over after practice to let her in with his spare. They drive their cars separately to her place.

When he unlocks her door, she asks him to come inside. She says she was planning to cook, which she knows he won’t abide.

Soon enough, he’s throwing pots and pans around her kitchen. It’s just boxed spaghetti with sauce from a jar, but he still doesn’t trust her not to fuck it up. While he’s sprucing up the sauce, tasting as he goes, she comes up behind him, snakes an arm around his waist. Perfectly natural. He offers her a taste. She laughs, suddenly unsure of herself. Then steels herself and licks the damn sauce from the corner his mouth. His eyes go wide. She pulls back, heart racing, her entire body on fire, anticipating his next move and trying not to panic. She watches him jump from shock to confusion to unfiltered desire. 

And then the wooden spoon comes crashing down, leaving a crime-scene splatter stain on her white tile floor. His hands are in her hair. He backs her up against the counter, tongue desperate to explore this new terrain.

Despite his best efforts, dinner is ruined.

***

They fight. They never fought before. Not really. Even when he broke her heart after that first surgery, they didn’t fight. She bit her tongue until she drew blood, and they skated around each other until things went back to normal.

But now, it’s all they seem to do. If she takes too long to put on her skate guards, if he’s five minutes late for practice, if she slurps her milk a little too loudly, if he laughs at a joke she deems inappropriate.

“Tessa, come on. We don’t have all day.”

“I’m coming,” she says. They’re at the Grand Prix Final, about to warm up for their short dance. Tessa thought it would be a good idea to go over the choreography while they wait for their turn on the ice, but they’re having trouble scoping out a place to do it. “Will you grab my bag?” she asks.

With a look that says _yes, but I swear to god Tess_ , Scott backtracks to collect her duffel.

Finally, she finishes fixing the laces on her skates and follows him down the stairs to a promising landing. They run through the choreography twice. Halfway through their second run, she has the distinct and uncomfortable sensation that they’re being watched. Glancing up into the stands, she can see a fan is recording.

“We should go somewhere else,” she says, marking through their twizzle sequence.

“This is fine.”

She jerks her head toward a group of fans across the way and elaborates. “Fan cam.”

“It’s not like it matters if they watch,” he says, taking her hand for a step sequence, “They’re gonna see us on the ice in 5 minutes. Christ.”

They stop dancing. She feels all the air leave the room. He tries to pull away, but she takes his hand and gives it a warning squeeze. _Remember, we’re being watched_. “Hey,” she says. “We're not doing this here.”

He takes a deep breath and nods, sobering quickly. He pulls her into a hug, and they breathe until their names are called to warm up.

They take home silver. 

***

Cassandra comes to stay with him a short while later. It's just for a weekend, but seeing her here in his bedroom in Canton knowing Tessa was naked _right there_ and, oh, hey, _right over there_ a mere week ago is the first time it feels real for him.

It’s been easy to justify hooking up with Tessa, because one, it’s Tessa -- they already do everything else together. It’s this unwritten, fucked up loophole in pairs and dance, or so Scott rationalizes to himself. And two, Cassandra exists in Canada, not in Canton. But she’s here, now. Calling him “baby” and flirting with him at the supermarket and walking around his apartment barefoot in his oversized t-shirts. He cooks her dinner and they do it missionary style on his couch, looking into each other’s eyes. She says I love you, and he says it back.

***

She’s on her knees in the shower, and he’s thrusting into her. One hand on her head, the other on the sliding glass door. She looks up at him, slows her rhythm until he looks at her, and with one long, slow stroke takes him all the way in. She relishes the effect she has on him. The evidence is on her tongue, and his face is ecstasy. She’s never felt so proud, and she’s the reigning Olympic champion.

Once she feels him at the edge, she pulls away. Wipes off her mouth and steps right out of the shower. She starts to towel off, but he follows her out and lifts her onto the bathroom sink. She erupts with laughter, and they’re both grinning like mad.

And then he’s inside of her. Full and raw and bursting with emotion. He pumps and pumps until he’s ready to explode, then pulls out and comes all over her clean, flat stomach.

He clings to her shoulders, catching his breath.

“Fuck, Tess. You’re incredible.” He kisses her quickly on the cheek, grabs a towel, and leaves.

She looks down at herself, all dripping wet and belly slick with cum. She gets back in the shower to rinse him off and cries the entire time.

***

It dawns on Scott that this is no longer casual for him. Tessa has asked him to drive her home, which is her way of asking for sex. She has her hand on his thigh the whole drive home. She’s busy calculating the amount of time it will take to unbuckle her seatbelt and straddle him when he suggests they stop for ice cream.

“What, like a _date_?”

He shrugs. He just had this image of Tessa with a huge glob of chocolate ice cream on her nose, him bending to lick it off, her laughing at some stupid joke under the neon lights at Mr. Frosty, them sitting on some fucking picnic bench holding hands and staying out past curfew and _god_. He feels like he’s 26 going on 16.

“I’m not in the mood for ice cream right now.”

He raises his brow at this. Since when is Tessa “my enjoyment chocolate is one of my defining personality traits” JaneMcCormickVirtue not in the mood for ice cream?

“We can do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just-- We’ve been doing this for a while, now, and I thought that maybe…”

She pulls her hand from his thigh and crosses her arms across her chest.

"You have a girlfriend."

"I know."

“It’s just sex, Scott. We can’t…” She almost visibly coils into herself. “It has to be just sex.”

“No, I know. You’re right.”

They finish the ride in silence. When they arrive, she says goodbye and doesn’t give him a chance to walk her to her door.

***

So, no. It’s not romantic. It’s never romantic. It’s bright and hot and suffocating, and it unravels in slow motion. Even if she wanted it to stop, she wouldn’t know how.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank god these two have been to therapy!
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. Hopefully I'll have an update by the end of the week.


End file.
